


Whole Milk

by GalMarshmallow



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, Belly Kink, Bloating, Button Popping, Chubby, Fat - Freeform, Furniture Breaking, Gen, Milk Bloat, Milkman - Freeform, Stuffing, expansion, male expansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 10:25:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalMarshmallow/pseuds/GalMarshmallow
Summary: Quick one-off 1920s period fat/belly kink/stuffing fic about a man, neighborly conflict, and a whole lot of bottles of milkContains some light fat-shaming/teasing by rude neighbors.





	Whole Milk

The doctor had known different forms of criticism from his neighbors for some time. He expected some of it stemmed from jealousy. He was a bachelor and quite comfortable with being one. He was wealthy from his successful practice and had things that they would consider to be status symbols flaunted in front of them such as his spacious home and lovingly maintained yard and garden. He was handsome and neatly groomed, his comfortable lifestyle obvious in his appearance alone. Quite comfortable, as was apparent by his remarkably full figure that his neighbors seemed to enjoy making their cheap remarks at.

Charles knew it was unusual to see a fat man when so many men maintained a sleek and narrow-waisted figure at the time. Such weight was more associated with older men who no longer worked or housewives who had little to do with their time outside of time spent at home. But even for them, the doctor’s mass was exceptional. He was quite undeniably classifiable as obese.

He was very round with his large potbelly that his high-reaching pants clung to, leaving his belt as more a fashion accessory than anything required. He had a broad back, strong beneath the bulk but still notably bearing multiple rolls where the fat of his sides met his shoulder blades and his lower back melded into love handles. His face was round with soft cheeks and a double chin noticeable by how his sharp natural jaw shape overlapped his thick neck. His facial features were striking with a strong, sharp nose and bright blue eyes. However his cherubic cheeks noticeably brought up his lower lids to give his eyes a ‘smiling’ appearance. A few people had taken to saying it made him look ‘jolly’ despite his quite serious resting expression.

Though he disliked their teasing, it was not because he felt negatively about his weight. He knew he was fat. He was a natural glutton who took great pleasure in his meals and had a tenancy to eat much more than what was needed. He had always been on the heavier side because of this, and the success of his career had only enabled him further and caused him to grow larger. He could afford to eat all he liked and to have his suits let out or new ones tailored whenever he required. And truth be told… He enjoyed his body a lot. He felt soft and supple and he loved to see himself in the mirror, made all of curves and slopes.

Still, his neighbors liked to tease and it was their rudeness that made him so resentful of it. 

He was still fuming as he made breakfast, thinking about what had transpired the evening before. He had been tending his garden late in the day, having worked through most of the afternoon hours, when it had happened. He had stood up, back sore from hunching over and picking weeds, and stretched to alleviate some of the ache. When he arched his back, his stomach pushed forward and in sight of that bastard lawyer Tom who lived across the street three buttons had popped off of his shirt in quick succession.

Tom had laughed quite openly and Charles was sure he was going to chatter to their other neighbors about it, being the motormouth he was. 

 

Charles moved another pancake from his stovetop to the plate on the counter, pouring another dollop of batter into the pan to continue the process. He sighed as he glanced aside at the growing stack. Some of it was frustration making him want to eat more but it really wasn’t all that excessive by his own standards. He could eat through a whole stack plus eggs, bacon, sausage, and hashbrowns if he had the inclination to do so. His stomach gave a soft growl as he thought about this, causing him to pause and pick off a little piece of the top pancake with his fingers to sample. Delicious, but incomplete. He flipped over the last pancake in the pan then turned off the burner, letting it finish cooking with the leftover heat while he grabbed the butter and syrup.

He added the finished pancake to his stack when he returned, adding a thick pat of butter on top of each of the pancakes, spreading it around with the knife as it melted under their warmth. Then he poured the syrup, careful not to let any run over the sides of his plate. Finally he added a sprinkling of powdered sugar to the whole thing, taking pleasure in the sight of his generously portioned and perfectly presented breakfast. He moved his plate to the dining room table, adjusting his house coat slightly as he realized the tie around the waist had come a little lose. He didn’t want to get it in the syrup after all. Then just as he was about to sit down, he realized something was missing.

Milk.

Right, he would need some milk with this. He checked the time on the clock before moving to peer out the kitchen door to that led to the side of his house. He had asked the milkman to stop leaving his bottles on the front porch given how Rupert Humphrey’s terrible little terrier liked to get out of the yard and go around knocking the bottles over. The side entrance had the benefit of a little latch gate on the fence, which the milkman knew he had permission to enter as he pleased for his deliveries. However, it seemed he was running late today.

“That lazy man. Probably slept in again,” Charles mused with a sigh, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he turned around to head back inside. He would just have to do without for a while.

He sat down at the table, his chair giving a creak at the action and his belly grazing the table’s edge as he scooted forward just a bit. From there, he would make quick work of the stack. His knife first cut through the first three pancakes to divide it up into pieces which he could spear with his fork, getting bites from multiple layers at once. They were moist and sweet, and he ate carefully to ensure the sticky syrup managed to get nowhere except into his mouth. Still he had to occasionally pick up his napkin and dab away droplets from his chin or corners of his mouth, as well as powdered sugar off the front of his shirt and housecoat. It was unavoidable though he would do his best not to let it make a mess.

The lower into the stack he went, the more soggy with syrup the pancakes were, though it didn’t deter him a bit. He enjoyed the sweet, rich flavor, and the buttery taste underneath. Still, as he came to the last pancake, he felt parched. Where was that damned milkman? He sighed as he finished his breakfast and sat back, hands resting on the soft slope of his belly. His hands wandered some after a minute, experimentally squeezing at the flab at the sides of his stomach then reaching under it to give it a little bounce. Even through his housecoat he could see the wobble it had to it. Certainly bigger than last time he cared to appraise it. Maybe it was time for a new suit again.

 

Stretching his arms over his head, he decided he might as well go get the newspaper. Surely at least that had arrived on time even if the milk hadn’t. Heading out the front door, Little Harry had in fact delivered on his paper route and the paper was sitting on his front step. He knelt down to pick it up with some effort then straightened up with a frown as he heard some snickering. He turned to his right, seeing Donna at the fence that separated their yards. She was in her morning clothes as well, some sort of little scarf or handkerchief typing back her hair, and she had a broad smile on.

 

“Well good morning, Charles. I had wondered if I would see you today. Tom mentioned something about you not having anything to keep you decent,” Donna said, leaning her elbow on the picket fence with an innocent little flutter of her lashes.

“Tom only says that because he’d only be decent if he put a bag over his head,” Charles said with a frown, smoothing down his housecoat a bit as he suddenly worried whether it was laying right over his round potbelly. Donna laughed at that.

“Actually Tom said that because a certain Mr. Greedy Gut managed to pop his dress shirt. I wonder how that happened?” she mused, seeming to take some pleasure in the deep shade of red that crossed Charles’ face. He turned around and headed back inside, deciding that anything further he could say to her would be a step further than what was socially acceptable. Damnation, that gossip had spread fast. He was embarrassed but more so he was livid. What should have been a minor inconvenience was going to turn into a recurring problem for him now. He sighed and smoothed his dark hair back with his hands as he stood in his entryway, having simply tossed the newspaper aside onto the kitchen table. He wasn’t in the mood to read now.

 

He was brought out of his fuming by a familliar sound. The stuttery hum of the milkman’s bike as it cruised up into his open gate to the side of his house. But rather than stopping for a few moments and then starting up again as it usually did when Joseph the milkman would drop off his milk then continue on with his route. It simply stopped altogether. He looked to the side door then, after tightening his housecoat’s sash once more, opened it to see what the hold up was. When he saw where Joseph was, it made sense.

 

Having seen Charles out the front door, Joseph had decided he would have time to park by his house unnoticed and sneak over to Aubrey Sterling’s house on his other side. Aubrey’s husband was at work by now at the post office, and Joseph never passed up on an opportunity to fool around with her. Their affair was not well kept from Charles given Aubrey’s hedges only hid her front yard from view, not the back or side where her windows were. Charles sighed and looked to the abandoned bike when Joseph disappeared into the neighboring house with Aubrey’s arms wrapped around him. Fine. He’d just get it himself.

He stepped over to look at the bottles, looking for some kind of signifier as to which one was his. They didn’t seem labeled with addresses. Just a couple colors of caps to designate which type of milk was in the bottle. They were still a little chilly to the touch too. Maybe Joseph just had to track what kind each resident prefered. Charles picked up one of the bottles of whole milk and stood in front of his kitchen door, having a long drink from the bottle before giving a soft sigh. That was exactly what he needed. Cool and creamy tasting, just like he liked it. He had another sip before his eyes trailed down to the crates of milk bottles. An idea crossed his mind as he took stock of them.

Two sets of six for a dozen bottles total, each about a pint. It was exactly the number intended for their street. Which meant if one too many was taken, someone wouldn’t get one. And if more… Charles considered this petty idea. He obviously couldn’t just *steal* the milk bottles. They were returnable, and Joseph would surely know it was him that had taken them anyway. He would have no way to dispose of them. He also couldn’t just dump out the milk, both because it would be obvious once more and also because it hurt him to think of wasting so much milk out of petty spite.

No, there was only one proper way to do this. He put the bottle to his lips again, tipping his head back as he started to drink down its contents. One gulp, two, three, four, five… He let out a long breath as he set the emptied bottle back into the crate and picked up another one. He wasn’t sure if he could fit down all twelve, but now that he had started he needed to try. If they wanted to tease him for being a glutton, well he would just be as gluttonous as he could be. He popped open the second bottle, drinking it down. He replaced it, making sure the cap was back on as well, then grabbed the next. The third one went slower than the first two, the volume of the drinks starting to catch up with him. He really wished he hadn’t just had such a big breakfast.

He paused halfway through the third bottle to catch his breath, deciding he could pace himself a little bit. Joseph was no Don Juan, but he’d have at least fifteen minutes before he came back. He drank the third bottle as he would a normal glass of milk rather than chugging it down in long gulps. Now the fourth bottle.

A few drinks into the fourth bottle, he put his hand over his mouth to muffle a soft burp, his stomach complaining about the now half a gallon of milk sitting heavily in his stomach with the big heap of pancakes. He could tell this was really going to overdo it by the time he was done, if he could make it that far. He remembered now that he had tightened his sash and quickly fumbled with it to loosen it, giving his stomach a little less pressure where the strip of material had begun to dig into his soft belly. He finished up the fourth bottle and picked up the fifth with an unenthusiastic look. He drank it slowly, his free hand setting about massaging his belly to try and soothe it.

He squeezed one side with his hand and gave it a slight jostle, pausing in his drinking to give another quiet burp that in turn freed up a little more room in his rapidly filling stomach. He sipped away at the fifth bottle until it was empty, the plain milk now feeling more like heavy cream to him with how much of it he had drank. He placed the bottle back, rubbing and gently pushing on his stomach to ease the discomfort. He was just short of halfway there and already looking very bloated. His stomach no longer hung over the waistband of his slacks to droop downward in an apron, instead sticking out roundly in front of him. It still had a good deal of give to it under his hands, but he could feel his stomach was more taut than usual, firm with so much food and milk.

He steeled himself again as he picked up the sixth bottle, popping off the lid to drink. The liquid was still chilled but the flavor was very thick on his throat now and gave little relief as it had initially. He closed his eyes as if that might somehow help.

The next few bottles felt quite similar; a test of his stamina and the tolerance of his stomach. Seven bottles. Eight bottles, rounding out to a full gallon now. Nine bottles. The tenth one was when he hit another road block. His stomach felt so bloated he might lose his balance, swelling in front of him and pushing his house coat open. It also felt unbearably tight, filled like a balloon but also held in a vice. He looked around, checking for anyone else who might see him. No, no chance of it from this side of his house unless Joseph unexpectedly came back. Reluctantly Charles reached down to pull his housecoat open further and reach under his burgeoning gut.

He had realized his pants were a large part of the problem. They fit relatively well most days, perhaps a little snug around his hips. But now with his stomach so swollen, they dug into him all around, pushing up his lovehandles and digging so unkindly into his lower stomach region. He let out a sigh of relief when he managed to open the button, his fat immediately filling in the new space as it was no longer being forcefully hugged to his body. His stomach drooped a bit now without the pants to prop it up, bobbing in a way that made Charles think he could almost feel the liquid inside sloshing around. As if noting this thought, his belly gurgled, seemingly still trying to do what it could with all of the milk.

He ignored this, slowly drinking down the tenth bottle. He picked up number eleven, looking over the cart to see his handiwork with the others. ‘That was for the whole neighborhood,’ he reminded himself. ‘Look at how much you’ve had, and you’re having more’. He smiled to himself as he finished the last bottle, giving his stomach a pat. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself over pushing his limit like this while also inconveniencing every one of those nosy busybodies who had insulted him over his weight.

Eleventh bottle. The end was drawing close. He slowly drank it as he leaned back against the doorframe that led back into his kitchen. He looked down at his stomach now that his housecoat was open, seeing his shirt was showing through and that there were gaps between each of the buttons now where his girth had pushed them apart. Each spot where a button was pinched into him; not painfully but in a way that made it appear his abdomen was made up of many smaller rolls of fat than it was. At some point he had lost the bottom two buttons and the shirt was slowly riding up further on his stomach. The bloating from the milk just made it too much for the poor cloth to handle. He would have to change or nap off all of this when he finally went back inside.

He replaced the bottle and picked up the last one. Number twelve. His stomach gave another noisy gurgle, as if asking him to be sensible and put it back. He popped the top off and drank, greedily gulping down the contents despite his stomach aching and jutting out in front of him to the point that he could have sworn it looked twice the size it had earlier. Two more buttons on his shirt popped off and he gave a soft groan through his nose. He really needed new clothes. He gasped for air as he finally finished, replacing the lid and putting the final bottle back just as he heard Aubrey’s door open. He turned around and wobbled back inside his own kitchen, a bit more of a waddle to his walk with his weight so offbalance. 

He closed his house coat, picked up his paper, and sat down in his chair, the dining chair giving a very threatening creak this time. His stomach sat in his lap like a big globe, easily pushing up into the kitchen table despite him not having even scooted in his chair this time. He straightened out his shirt a bit as well, only looking up when he heard a knock at his kitchen door.

“Yes?” he called from his seat. Like hell he was going to get back up after going to all this effort to look casual after gorging himself like that. The door peeked open a bit and Joseph peered in with a frown, seeming a little distressed.

“Hey Charles. Did uh… Did you happen to get your milk delivery?”

“Now Joseph, how would I have gotten it if you’re only now here?” Charles tsked, shaking his head as he looked back to his paper. “You can put the bottle on the counter there.”

“Ah… Sorry. There was an accident with the milk so uh. None today. I’ll strike it from your bill at the end of the week. Sorry for disturbing you,” the milkman said meekly as he ducked back out of the house and closed the door. Joseph imagined some punk kids had come and dumped it all out or swapped it for their own trade-in bottles. But he just couldn’t help but think as he got back on his bike how big the doctor was looking as of late. He had a belly big enough to make one of those tacky little Buddah statuettes from the import shops blush with how it was pinned between his thighs and the table. He dismissed this thought as he rode off to finish delivering what groceries he did still have.

 

Charles relaxed immediately once Joseph was gone, slouching and allowing another burp he had been holding back. He very gently rubbed his belly with his hands and regretted what he had done. Tom really wasn’t worth this stomach ache. Still, he felt a certain satisfaction in knowing he could eat so remarkably much. He leaned back in his chair to give his stomach a little more room… Only to hear a loud crack as the chair’s back legs finally broke and spilled him onto his back on the floor with his bloated gut sticking right up over him.

 

‘Alright,’ he admitted to himself. ‘Maybe I overdid it just a little bit.’


End file.
